


The Path to Victory

by celeste9



Category: Suikoden, Suikoden III
Genre: Bickering, Competition, Drinking, First Time, M/M, Pre-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 22:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1704299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percival was the most aggravating person Borus had ever met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Path to Victory

**Author's Note:**

> For 'rivals to lovers' on my trope_bingo card. Set pre-game, so Borus and Percival are in their late teens.

Percival was the most aggravating person Borus had ever met.

This was saying a lot, as Borus had met an unfortunately large number of aggravating people.

“Morning, Borus,” Percival said, sitting down directly across from him, his plate piled with so much food you might have thought he’d never eaten before in his life.

It was early. The mess hall was filled with empty seats, and yet Percival just had to sit where he wasn’t wanted.

Borus scowled and speared a sausage. He might have pointed out all the available benches but he had been brought up with better manners than that. Unlike some.

“Hope we’re paired up again this morning,” Percival said through a mouthful of food.

Averting his eyes in disgust, Borus said, “So I can beat you again?”

“You can try.”

It turned out to be an empty boast. Borus and Percival were indeed assigned as sparring partners again, and Borus again got the better of Percival. Percival was quick and agile, but his sword wasn’t an extension of his arm the way Borus’ was. Borus had been playing with wooden swords since the moment he could hold one. Percival had played with shovels, or whatever it was common children played with. Borus wouldn’t know.

“Next time,” Percival said cheerfully, getting back to his feet. He was persistent, Borus would give him that.

He also seemed entirely unaware of Borus’ antagonism towards him. Or else he simply didn’t care. It might have been that.

Many of the other recruits were under the impression that Borus was actually _friends_ with Percival. This was ridiculous, of course. It was only that Percival was always hanging about him. No one much liked Percival, you see, because he was a commoner. Borus, of course, had been brought up properly, so he knew it would be rude to turn up his nose. That was all. It wasn’t as though he actually _liked_ Percival.

He could have had other friends, if he wanted. He was a noble. He could have been a knight already, if he’d wanted that, too. He could have bought his title. His father had certainly wanted him to. Second sons should be knights, after all. There was no need to move up through the ranks with all the riff-raff, sweating and struggling.

But Borus hadn’t wanted that. He’d wanted to be a knight because he deserved to be one, not because he had the proper pedigree. A lot of people thought that was silly. A lot of people thought Borus was stuck-up, too. He wasn’t stuck-up. He just... Well. Anyway, there was Borus, and there was Percival, and apparently it looked like they were friends even though Borus thought they would be more properly considered rivals.

Not that Percival seemed to realize that was what they were. He was competitive enough, but he never actually seemed to mind all that much when Borus beat him at things.

Borus decided that was simply a character flaw. Percival had a lot of those, to be sure.

-

“Damn,” Borus said under his breath as the flames flickered out. Perhaps he had no aptitude for magic, after all. The Rune Sage had tried to warn him of such, but Borus had thought that perhaps fire...

“You try to force it too much,” came an unwelcome voice. “You have to let the magic flow through you.”

“If I want your advice, Percival, I will ask for it.” It hardly needed saying that Borus would never want it. Should he need assistance, he would go to a professional.

Percival shrugged. “Just trying to be helpful. One would think you would be a natural with fire. Your temper burns so fiercely, after all.”

Borus clenched his fist. “Would you like to have a reminder of that fact?”

Laughing, Percival said, “Oh, no need, thank you. Actually, I’ve come to tell you that Sir Galahad wishes to see us.”

“Us?”

“Yes. Now, unless you’d like to keep him waiting...”

Borus hurried off, because he most definitely did not.

-

Sir Galahad asked them to deliver a message to the Council. Ordinarily, Borus would have been pleased by the honor, to be entrusted with such a task. It could only be good that the Captain of the Six Mighty Knights was showing him favor. And he was pleased, it was only...

Had Sir Galahad _really_ needed to send Percival, too?

They were keeping a steady pace, the path wide enough across that they could ride side-by-side. The clopping of the horses’ hooves wasn’t quite loud enough to drown out the sound of Percival’s ceaseless chatter.

A rabbit scurried across the path ahead of them.

Borus’ horse reared. Unable to react quickly enough, Borus found himself scrabbling for purchase and then thrown clean off the horse’s back. Luckily his boots didn’t get caught in the stirrups and he landed painfully but wasn’t dragged. He rolled to avoid the horse’s hooves.

“Borus!” Percival kept his own horse in check, patting his neck and speaking soothingly. As soon as he was able, he dismounted and went to his knees at Borus’ side. “Are you all right?” His brown eyes were wide with concern.

“Fine,” Borus muttered, feeling his cheeks hot with embarrassment. He ignored Percival’s offer of assistance and moved into a seated position, groaning. He was going to be bloody sore in the morning, that was certain.

Realizing that his help was unwanted, Percival instead went after Borus’ horse, which had run some distance away. He returned momentarily, leading the beast, which seemed calm.

By this point, Borus had creaked up to his feet. Percival had always been better with horses than he was; he was a natural. It was somewhat of a point of shame for Borus. He told himself it was only because Percival had probably literally been raised in a barn. That made him feel a little better.

“He’ll be all right now, won’t you, boy?” Percival said, leading the horse to Borus. However, seeming to sense Borus’ hesitation, he went on, “I’ll ride him to Vinay. You can ride mine. If that’s all right with you.”

Borus knew he was blushing fiercely. He felt weak and inadequate and Percival’s tact almost made it worse. “Fine,” he said gruffly, and pulled himself into the saddle, biting his lip at the bruises he could already feel.

One more notch on Percival’s belt, if they were keeping score.

Borus wasn’t, of course.

-

“Look, there’s Chris,” Percival said, catching hold of Borus’ sleeve as they walked down the road outside of Brass Castle. “Let’s go and say hello.”

“I’m sure she’s busy, Percival, we--”

But Percival had already dragged him down the street. “Good afternoon, Chris,” Percival said, flashing the girl the same smile he offered to every common wench at market.

Lady Chris Lightfellow was no common wench. She was Wyatt Lightfellow’s only daughter, and Sir Galahad’s own squire. The other recruits said she was good for a _girl,_ but Borus knew that was a joke. Chris would say her vows and have her vigil, perhaps sooner than any of them, and she was destined to take her place as one of the Six. Anyone who said differently was a fool.

“Hello,” Chris said, pushing a strand of her silvery hair behind her hair.

Chris was also easily the most beautiful girl - woman - whatever, Borus had ever seen. He felt his cheeks redden. “I told Percival we shouldn’t bother you, that surely you were busy doing important work for Sir Galahad, but you know Percival.” Borus directed a scowl in Percival’s direction.

Percival only continued smiling. “Thought you might appreciate some company.”

“That was... nice of you,” Chris said, a bit uncertainly. “But Borus was right, I’m going to retrieve Sir Galahad’s armor. It needs a polish.”

“Perhaps we could help.”

Chris blinked her large eyes. “No, that’s all right. I’d better do it myself.”

“Then perhaps you could meet us later? Dinner? Or perhaps just me?”

“Um, some time, perhaps, yes,” Chris said, and darted a glance at Borus. “Good day,” she said, and walked quickly off.

Borus smacked Percival in the arm. “That was poorly done.”

“What?” Percival said guilelessly. “Just being friendly.”

“Just trying to get into her knickers, you mean.”

“Why, Borus, that was almost crude.” Percival was grinning, though, and he didn’t try to deny it. “Think she could use a good tumble.”

Borus just sighed. “What she could use is a good friend.”

Percival clasped Borus’ shoulder. “Ah. Who knew there was a brain in that pretty head of yours?”

“Everyone but you,” Borus said, narrowing his eyes.

“Hmm. Well, perhaps it’s only that you wish to bed her yourself.”

Flushing, Borus jerked away and started walking in the opposite direction.

Bounding after him, Percival’s long strides allowed him to catch up swiftly. “Are you going to let a woman come between us, Borus? Say it isn’t so.”

“I should think Chris will have many suitors, with or without the two of us.”

“But you are such a sore loser.”

“And you are the single most annoying man I know.”

“Thank you, Borus,” Percival said, laughter in his voice.

Borus pressed his lips together and kept walking.

-

Borus wasn’t entirely certain why he had allowed Percival to convince him that they should spend their night off in the tavern. He wasn’t entirely certain why he allowed Percival to convince him of anything, as it never led to anything good.

Regardless, they were in the tavern, and Percival was bringing over their drinks. Borus sniffed at it. Ale, and cheap ale at that, he would wager.

Percival slid into the seat across from Borus, pushing a glass over to him. “Since you’re always so keen on competing, Borus, here’s a competition for you. Let’s each of us try to bed the most attractive person in the tavern tonight, and see who wins.”

“That’s vulgar.”

Percival waggled his eyebrows. “Ceding already?”

Borus thinned his lips and thought that he shouldn’t lower himself, he really shouldn’t.

“Certainly not,” Borus said, and Percival grinned.

The night passed in a haze of too much alcohol and too much flirting. Percival kept laughing, that joyful, infectious laugh of his, and even when Borus was trying to be charming he found his gaze continually wandered to Percival. Percival and his easy smiles and his twinkling eyes.

Percival who, in fact, seemed to be attempting to sabotage Borus’ chance of victory by ensuring his glass was never empty.

“Are you so intimidated that you must try to get me drunk?” Borus asked.

“No,” Percival said, with a bright smile and a flash of white teeth. “It’s simply that you are so much more fun when you’re intoxicated. Makes me forget what a stick in the mud you are ordinarily.” Percival’s hand was on Borus’ wrist, his palm warm but not unpleasantly so.

Borus found himself leaning in. He suspected that was when things started to go a bit wrong.

-

When he woke up, Borus realized quite quickly that he wasn’t alone. Oh, goddess, had he actually bedded some poor girl because of Percival’s stupid game?

Except, no, he knew that wasn’t right. Actually, the last thing he remembered clearly was Percival -

Oh. _Oh._ Yes, that would explain the hard, flat chest he was lying on, and the large hand he could feel resting on his back. He pushed himself up and found himself looking into Percival’s dark eyes.

Percival’s expression was somewhere between amused and smug, which was about right for his default expression. “It seems you’ve won, Borus.”

“What?”

“Well, clearly I was the best-looking person in the tavern, and you’ve bedded me.” Percival’s smile was cheeky.

“Alcohol is an evil thing, truly,” Borus said. He flopped onto his back, jostling Percival aside. “What’s my prize?”

“Me, of course. I should have thought that was obvious.”

“Goddess help me,” Borus muttered and pulled the pillow over his head, covering his face.

“You’re always so dramatic,” Percival said, dragging the pillow away so he could kiss Borus, long and slow. His breath smelled of stale beer and somehow Borus didn’t mind as much as he should have.

Borus sighed a little, his lips parting, allowing Percival to deepen the kiss. He thought he would protest, but Percival was doing something interesting with his hand between Borus’ legs and he thought he’d wait until later, until his head hurt less, until his brain wasn’t so foggy.

Yes. Much, much later.

**_End_ **


End file.
